


the darkness wrapping all its arms in mine

by runandgo



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Catatonic MC, GN!Apprentice - Freeform, Memory Loss, Multi, Mutual Pining, Post-Red Plague, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23259814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runandgo/pseuds/runandgo
Summary: And the feelings hit you all at once: guilt for making him take care of you like this, frustration that you can’t stop it, and longing so deep and powerful it knocks the wind out of you. You want to apologize to him, to thank him, to kiss him until you forget that you’ve forgotten everything important in your life.
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Asra (The Arcana)/Reader
Kudos: 99





	the darkness wrapping all its arms in mine

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [on tumblr](https://vsuvia.tumblr.com/post/190730212385/okokok-asra-dealing-with-catatonic-mc-fic-please) to fill a request from the lovely@doggonudez
> 
> i don’t write angst all that often, but man, i loved writing this
> 
> title from “past life” by maggie rogers

As soon as you open your eyes, you know. You just know.

It’s going to be another one of those days, the ones where moving feels as hard as climbing a mountain. Where the night before is a haze of pain and magic — your head still feels tender, the light stings your eyes — and the morning is something you don’t want to face. You will your eyes closed but they won’t go.

Some time later, Asra wakes; you can hear his breathing change, stutter out of the slowness of sleep. He stretches out, his movements languid, beautiful as always, until he remembers the body next to him and stops mid-yawn. Worry takes over his features, and he turns to search your face. Once, twice, he says your name, and when the only thing you do is blink in response, he curses softly under his breath. His hand touches your cheek, rubs under your eyes, the dark circles there. “I’m so sorry.” He leans in to kiss your forehead, and you want to lean into him, you want to so badly, but your body won’t behave. “We’ll figure this out, I swear it. I _swear_ it.”

With the creaking of the bed frame, he leaves you, coming back a few moments later with a flask full of the potion he keeps on hand for when you get like this. It doesn’t help you move, but it keeps the headache away, and you’re grateful for that. So gently, he sits you up in bed, tilts the stuff down your throat. It’s been sweetened with honey, which isn’t necessary for the recipe, but he knows you like it. And the feelings hit you all at once: guilt for making him take care of you like this, frustration that you can’t stop it, and longing so deep and powerful it knocks the wind out of you. You want to apologize to him, to thank him, to kiss him until you forget that you’ve forgotten everything important in your life.

But you can’t, so you just try to use your magic to push even an iota of the feeling towards him and let him know. When he pulls away and goes to wipe your mouth off, his thumb brushes your lip and he jumps back like he’s been shocked, then looks down at you, expression softening. “You don’t have to apologize. Or thank me. I get to be here with you, to take care of you. How lucky am I?”

It’s too much, you don’t deserve it, and heat rises to your cheeks as he tucks the blankets around you, props another pillow behind your neck. From the basket at the foot of the bed, a purple head emerges, and then Faust slithers up the covers towards you. She must ask about you, because Asra grimaces as he puts the emptied flask on the counter. “Unfortunately.” Another silence, then: “The same thing we always do, Faust. Take care of her. Make her as comfortable as we can… There’s nothing much else we can do. I hope it’s enough.”

_Of course it’s enough._ The words sit on the back of your tongue, collecting unsaid. Faust makes her way onto your chest and curls up, a comforting weight above your heart. Her tongue flicks out as she meets your eyes, and if you could make any movements, you’d smile back, maybe stick your tongue out too.

Asra sits down beside you, his arms full of books now, and spreads them out on the bed. “I was thinking books and travel stories, hm? There’s still so much magic to learn, together. And I have a lot I still haven’t gotten to tell you yet.” He runs a hand lightly over the heavy, gilded covers. “If you get bored, you can just go back to sleep. I would understand.” You could never get bored; even if he told you the same story a thousand times, he’d find new details to put in it, new ways to tell it, and his face would still light up the room in a heartbreakingly magnetic way. 

So that’s how you pass the time, as rain begins to fall outside the window. The shop stays closed, no bell tinkling to indicate a customer, no chores done. Instead, Asra spends all day reading to you, rubbing your back as you fall in and out of sleep (although the touch of his warm skin through your clothes does little to help you drift off), tilting potions down your throat that lessen your pain and make the world feel just a little more real. 

The sun’s gone down and the moon is shining in through the window as he lights the candles in the front of the house, then holds his hand over the big silver washtub to fill it with steaming water. “We never really… talk about this when you can talk, other than you saying you liked it,” he says, walking back over to the bed to stand in front of you. “But your aura goes… this beautiful shade of lavender when you’re in a bath. Not that I’m looking! At you! Just, I can feel it.” His face goes red as he sits you up and wraps an arm under your shoulders to get you on your feet, determinedly looking everywhere other than your face. You try your best to keep your thoughts from leaking into your magic and letting him know how your heart is pounding wildly.

He waves his hand and bandages appear over his eyes, obscuring his vision, though his face still flames underneath the magically-summoned cloth. Fingers shaking ever so slightly, he unbuttons your sleep clothes and pulls them over your head, exceedingly graceful despite his lack of vision. Then, a little more clumsily but with no less care, he lowers you into the bath, his arm burning where it touches your bare skin. It’s a good thing that he only does this when you can’t respond; you might never let him let go if you could move.

As soon as you’re submerged, he turns his back, sinks against the side of the tub, and magics away his bandages. The water flowing around you, warming you, is incredibly comforting; it even smells like your favorite flower. _The things he does for you…_

A few minutes later, Asra speaks. “I hope you know. How sorry I am for hurting you, and having to take away your memories.” He sounds anguished, in a way he never usually lets you see. “I want you to know your past… I hate keeping things from you. I don’t want it to seem like I’m in control of your life. You’re so strong. You can do it yourself, and I hope — no, I know that one day you’ll be able to. And I’m going to be so proud of you when that day comes.” He sniffs, and his voice sounds thick. _Is he crying?_ Your heart aches. You want to reach out, touch him, but you still can’t, and you’ve never hated every muscle that won’t obey your commands more than you do right now.

“So until then… just please, know.” A short sigh, full of so many things that can’t possibly be put into words. Around you both, your auras are swirling in your minds’ eyes, mixing colors, a deep navy blue of regret and a dark pink-orange of longing, so muddled together that it’s impossible to tell which is coming from where — or maybe there’s not really a difference. “This hurts me, too. But I’d do it… I’d do it a thousand times over. Because the alternative is unthinkable.”

Even if you could speak, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask what he means. Asra sounds devastated, raw, like he’s been cut open, pinned to a table like a butterfly in a collector’s book. The silence hangs, heavy and muddled in the air, until he gets up again, blindfolds himself, dries you with magic and dresses you again, still not speaking. And when he blows out the candles and lays you in bed, he crawls closer to you than usual, his hand finding yours in the darkness, holding it as if it’s tying him to the world.

Sometime in the night, feeling returns to your body, inch by inch, molecule by molecule, and the first thing you do is squeeze his hand in return.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! if you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or kudos, they genuinely make my day :) you can also find me on tumblr @vsuvia if you wanna yell more about the arcana lol


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